


In Welcoming Warmth

by magickalmolly



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickalmolly/pseuds/magickalmolly
Summary: Three hobbits keep warm on a cold winter's night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written December 24, 2005.

Finishing off his third glass of wine for the evening, Frodo was beginning to feel its effects. He was full of good holiday cheer (and an excellent supper, as well as two helpings of dessert), and he leaned into the plumped-up pillows against the headboard with a contented sigh. An open book lay across his lap. His body was full and sated, and he was ready for a bit of a read before he turned in for the night. 

After an exuberant day of tromping about in the snow with his cousins, Frodo was relishing both the quiet of the evening and the warmth of his room. The crackling fire in the small hearth exuded a cozy heat, and aside from it, the only noises to be heard were the barely perceptible sound of the snow falling outside his window and the soft rustle of pages being turned. The peacefulness of it all lulled Frodo until he was sure he'd nod off right where he sat. 

It was at precisely that moment when Pippin burst into the room, disturbing the tranquil scene with a jovial greeting. 

"Hoy, Frodo! You should see it out there! The snow's falling fast now – we're sure to be snowbound by morning." Pippin stomped the lingering traces of snow from his feet and shook icy droplets from his coppery curls, unwinding his scarf around his neck all the while.

"Nonsense. That's not true and you know it." Merry followed behind, his own hair sprinkled with snow. The both of them were rosy-cheeked and grinning, and Frodo could smell the sharp rang of cold on them as they crossed to the fire.

"Oh, but it's a gorgeous night, even with all the snow. Or, because of it, I suppose." Merry chaffed his hands together as he spoke, warming them next to the open hearth. Frodo could see that Merry and Pippin both shivered, and he burrowed himself down more into his blankets at the sight. 

"Well, I told you to stay inside for your smoke. Bilbo did often enough; it's not as if this smial isn't use to it."

"But it's more fun to do it outside." Pippin's expression was innocent when he said this, but a moment later he let loose a childish snigger. Merry only sighed and rolled his eyes, grinning a moment later himself. 

Shedding his jacket and weskit along the way, Pippin crossed to Frodo, and sat on the bed as he opened the buttons of his shirt, unaware or uncaring that he was leaving a trail of clothing across the floor. Frodo raised a curios eyebrow at his young cousin.

"Don't you think you should do that in your own room?" 

It was rather a pointless query, and all three hobbits knew it. Neither Pippin nor Merry had spent any time in any of the guest rooms since they arrived. Frodo's bed was more than big enough for the three of them, and that's where they insisted on staying. Frodo had learned over the years that one did not invite Merry and Pippin over and expect them not to make themselves _completely_ at home. 

Pippin didn't reply to Frodo's question except for an engaging smile, and Merry chuckled as he busied himself with undressing as well, laying his things aside neatly.

Frodo's sigh was resigned, and he put his book from him completely. "All right then. But keep your cold feet to yourself. I've just warmed the sheets and I'll not – Pippin!" 

Pippin slipped himself under the aforementioned warmed sheets while Frodo spoke, and pressed himself close with a happy wriggle. His chilly toes rubbed themselves against Frodo's much less icy feet, causing Frodo's exclamation. 

"You should know better, cousin. Pippin can't resist causing trouble." Merry, naked now as well, slid himself under the covers on the opposite side of Frodo, making sure to keep his feet to himself. His hands, however, slipped around Frodo's waist from behind, and he snugged the length of his body to Frodo's with a pleased hum. Despite himself, Frodo smiled, and he pressed back against Merry, sharing his warmth.

"I should disagree with you, you know, but my mum told me never to tell a lie." Pippin's voice was muffled against Frodo's shoulder as he tried to warm his nose there, rubbing it back and forth.

"Your mum also told you not to speak with your mouth full, but you do that often enough."

That earned Merry a pinch to his thigh, which Merry quickly returned, catching Pippin right on the belly. Frodo suddenly found himself caught in the middle of his cousin's fight, and the two of them grasped and scrabbled at one another with feigned vengeance until Frodo shouted for them to stop. 

"Enough!" But Frodo was laughing rather helplessly when he said it, and gave each Merry and Pippin a pinch for good measure when they finally stilled.

"The two of you can play in another bed if you're of that mind tonight. I'm of a mind to get some sleep." 

Over Frodo's dark curls, Merry and Pippin shared a look. Or, rather, a _look_ , as Frodo was wont to call it. It was one Frodo had seen countless of times before, but this was the first time he'd been in the middle of it, quite literally. He didn't know exactly how his cousins managed to convey what seemed to be an entire conversation without words, but he did know that it meant trouble. 

Pippin's mouth was cold, and Frodo gasped softly to feel it. He blinked in surprise when he realized his young cousin was kissing him. Frodo's gasp allowed Pippin the perfect opportunity to slip his cool tongue in between Frodo's parted lips, which he did with a happy hum. Pippin tasted of pipeweed, but also of snow, and the icy winter wind, chilly with just a hint of lingering sweetness. Without meaning to let them, Frodo's eyes fell shut, and he succumbed to the kiss.

So lost in the slowly warming pleasure of Pippin's mouth, Frodo momentarily forgot Merry was behind him, watching. It was only when Merry's fingers, much colder than Pippin's talented tongue, slid under the hem of his nightshirt, that Frodo remembered at all, and he blushed as a rather undignified squeak escaped his mouth.

"Mercy, but your hands are like ice!" 

Merry's chuckle rumbled just behind Frodo's ear, Pippin's echoing against the hallow of his throat, and Frodo experienced a flush of heat quickly rising to the surface of his skin. Merry's hands were cold, but his hips and belly were surprisingly hot. As Merry slipped the single article of clothing from his cousin's lithe frame, Frodo became very aware of that fact. But it was easy to press back against that heat; to let it infuse into his bare skin. 

Perhaps that third cup of wine hadn't been such a good idea after all. Frodo found himself helpless to resist what was being done to him, each kiss and caress melting his defenses. He also found himself not caring very much either, and then he found himself returning Pippin's kisses with a slow thoroughness.

Frodo lost track of the time as the three of them burrowed themselves into the bed. Stroking hands and sweet, wet kisses enveloped him, covering him more proficiently than the blankets that slowly worked their way down to the end of the bed. There was only Merry and Pippin left to keep Frodo warm. But they did more than a sufficient job, were Frodo to think on it. As they moved, sweat rose to the surface of his now flushed skin, where it was smeared by a caress or licked away by a tongue. Yes, Frodo was quite warm indeed.

So lost was Frodo to everything but the next kiss, the next touch, that he didn't know from where it was Merry proffered the vial of oil. But he couldn't waste energy worryiting about it, as Merry's slick fingers entered him, two, then three. Pippin's tongue scattered his thoughts completely with the clever things it was doing to the shell of his ear, and Frodo moaned unashamedly, tangling a hand in his cousin's coppery curls. 

As Merry entered Frodo from behind, Frodo to let his head tumble back onto Merry's shoulder, his body slowly arching. Pippin took the opportunity to let his mouth travel lower, and he nipped lightly (then not so lightly) at Frodo's throat and collarbone. Mouth gasping for air, Frodo's cry was high and weak, but his hips bore down, and the next cry was stronger, throatier, his body eagerly and completely accepting Merry's length and Pippin's attentions. He wanted more of both. Merry answered Frodo's pleasured sound with one of his own, deep and throaty as well, and full of his laughter, which vibrated his belly, pressed sweatily to the small of Frodo's back. 

Merry's mouth mirrored Pippin's along Frodo's nape and shoulderblade, and Frodo had to squeeze his eyes tight as he was fair overwhelmed with pleasure. He clutched at both of his cousins needfully. But Pippin had the oil now, and he slicked his hand with it, stroking Frodo and himself together until Frodo was sure he'd be overcome. Pippin laughed to see it, like the tinkling of icicles, brilliant and clear. 

As the snow continued to fall outside, three bodies fell into an ancient rhythm, and for the moment Frodo could remember nothing but this. The heat, and the wetness, the moist slide of thigh and fingers over flushed skin, sharing motion and sharing breath, even as they shared kisses and honeyed praises and breathless laughter. Pippin's breath was humid and Merry's length was like fire, and Frodo wondered absently to himself if he would ever be cold again.

Frodo wished to hold onto what had been created here in the privacy of his room. He couldn't remember ever feeling so light, He was floating free on the wind, a dancing snowflake. But all too soon, between Merry's deep thrusts and Pippin's clever hands, he reached his peak, gasping and spent. Pippin captured Frodo's breath with a kiss, and he tumbled over as well, Merry a moment behind, whether unwilling or unable to resist, Frodo couldn't know.

No words were spoken as the three hobbits settled close, content in their combined sated warmth. Pippin murmured something against Frodo's collarbone, but Merry shushed him, one hand reaching across Frodo's chest to stroke the younger hobbit's tousled curls. Pippin pressed into the touch with a breathy sigh, and Frodo felt rather than saw Pippin's smile. 

Pippin was asleep then, and Frodo was surprised to feel himself almost there as well. He reached clumsily for the blankets, but again, Merry was there to shush and offer a soothing caress. He drew the blankets up around the three of them.

"Goodnight, Frodo," Merry's voice was a burr in Frodo's ear. Frodo's eyes fell shut, and, peaceful and sated and warm, he easily succumbed to sleep. 

~fin~


End file.
